


To The Sky

by HallowedNight



Series: Owl City (Max/Nux Wing!Fic) [1]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Nux Lives, Post-Movie, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 19:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallowedNight/pseuds/HallowedNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max hides from the world; he survives, against all odds. But when someone else decides to crawl from the wreckage of his newest adventure, Max is forced to bare his soul.</p>
<p>(Part one of a new slow build Max/Nux series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends~ This is just a little oneshot I wanted to experiment with and it got a little out of hand. Now I'm gonna have to continue it. C:
> 
> The title is based on the song To The Sky by Owl City, which is absolutely fantastic. Enjoy!

Max was alone.

He was finally alone, free of Citadel; surely haunted by his recent adventures, but what was another ghost to him? He had a veritable collection.

It wasn’t silent. Not in his head, not in the world around him, but it was close enough. The growl of an engine was background noise, the constant shifting of sand a lullaby by now. He wasn’t at peace, never that, but he was alive and grounded and free.

It hadn’t been hard to find a motorcycle to leave Citadel. The War Boys’ vehicle bays, usually heavily guarded, were free range once he picked the lock on the outside door. He had enough supplies to last him for…well, long enough, and the bike wasn’t going to break down any time soon.

Two days had passed since he left the city, but he was procrastinating, deluding himself into believing he was still trying to decide whether to skirt around the mountains or go through the canyon. Half his mind was already made up, but the other half wanted to turn around, to go back to Citadel and help or maybe just live…he wouldn’t have to run or hide anymore, wouldn’t have to worry about thieves or night raids or the painfully familiar, baking- hot desert.

Max frowned into the early morning sun, squinting and shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. No, he thought. That wasn’t possible. He could only live when the sand was stretched before him, shimmering for miles and miles. Pure isolation, just what he needed, his only source of comfort. Sighing heavily, he mounted his motorcycle and kicked up the stand, gazing towards the skyline for a moment before revving the machine and starting towards the distant mountains. He needed to leave. This was still too close, and there was nothing for him here but secrets and lies.

Another day passed before Max reached the base of the mountains. The familiar canyon entrance loomed before him, far enough away that the motorcycle gangs of the mountains wouldn’t see his tiny camp. There was no weather on the horizon, so he found a protruding boulder to protect against the punishing desert winds and built a tiny fire, hunkering around it’s warmth as night fell in earnest. Though he enjoyed travelling by motorcycle, it was times like this he missed his car; an enclosed vehicle was a lot more protection than a big rock and a pile of scratchy blankets.

Time passed slowly in the desert. Even when he slept, Max felt like he was stuck in a bubble moving at half the speed of the outside world. He always woke before dawn, covered in grit, waiting for sunrise to warm the sands around him. This morning was no different. He stood and leaned his chest against the boulder, watching the sky over its top filter through its stages of color, first light blues, then yellows, golds, reds, oranges…it was beautiful, he decided, but only in theory. It meant another day of biting sand and burning heat and nothing that he particularly enjoyed.

Max had perfected his morning ritual by this point. Walk a few yards away to relieve himself. Drink sparingly from one of his canteens, eat some dried meat, a luxury he had procured in Citadel. Pack up his blankets and bedroll. Destroy any traces of the fire. Finally, he would stretch, showing his true self to the sun every morning, revealing his soul to the golden disk, the only face that would ever lay eyes on this part of him.

This morning was interrupted. Max was already half undressed, only a thin undershirt hiding his harness when he heard the familiar shuffle of feet on the sand behind the boulder; a scowl distorting his features, the man scrambled for his sawed-off and stalked around the rock, ready to blow the guy’s head off, when…

“Nux?” The word was a hoarse, grating sound, quite contrary to the gentle arm he leant the War Boy, who looked as though he was on his last leg. Regardless of his condition, a huge grin spread over his face when he saw who was keeping him on his feet.

“Bloodbag! Lookit you! You’re alive, _fantastic_.” Nux babbled all the way around the boulder, quieting only when Max pushed a canteen into his hand. Furrowing his brows, Nux gazed up at the man, obviously confused.

“Drink,” Max grunted, gesturing towards the container. The perplexed look remained plastered on Nux’s face, but he did as he was told, eyes falling shut as the liquid slid down his throat.

The (former?) War Boy drank slowly for a few minutes, lowering to the canteen to catch his breath after every long draught. Max stood beside his bike, shotgun hanging loosely in his hand. This was the last thing he was expecting to find out here, especially after that crash; Nux barely even looked hurt. Malnourished and dehydrated, yes, but the only real wounds on him were some scratches down one shoulder and side. It was bizarre, and Max wasn’t sure if he was happy or not.

“Thank you.”

Max’s eyes snapped down to the Boy when Nux spoke and wiped mouth with the back of his hand. The man nodded and took the canteen back, downing another swig for himself before stuffing it back in a saddlebag. The sun was only an inch or so above the horizon, and they were on the west side of the boulder. He had time.

“How are you alive?” the man asked, frank as always.

Nux grinned at this, puffing out his chest. “Didja really think I’d let that ol’ war rig get me? Nah. She fell on ‘er side, it was easy enough to scramble on out ‘fore she blew. Was out cold for a while I guess, but no harm done.” He spread his arms slightly. “Even done away with some of Joe’s boys when I woke up, the few still shittin’ around.”

Max grunted, mildly impressed. The kid was tough, that’s for sure.

“So what’re you doing then? I thought you all was goin’ back to Citadel.”

“I left,” Max responded with a nod.

“And the others?” Nux’s voice lowered slightly, and a shock of red hair flashed behind Max’s eyes.

“Fine. They’re all fine.”

Nux’s face immediately lit up like a brush fire, fiercely happy and proud. Max’s lip twitched.

“I can take you back,” he began, gesturing towards the bike, but his hand fell back to his side when the War Boy shook his head vigorously.

“No, no…better sh- they believe I’m dead. Gonna die anyway, y’know. No needta stir everythin’ back up and then leave again.”

Max nodded slowly, futilely willing himself to be irritated at where this was going. “I’ve got room.” He almost made it a question, but decided against it at the last second; he wasn’t going to let this kid wander around the desert till he died of heatstroke. Neither of them really knew what they were doing, so they might as well do it together.

Nux smiled slightly and nodded, gratefully accepting the gesture. They stewed in silence for a moment, Max squinting towards the mountains, Nux gazing at Max. And then, finally, the question Max was dreading:

“What’s wrong with your back?”

Max turned his eyes toward the thick jacket hanging on his handlebars, sighing heavily as he reached back to rub the lumpy fabric at the base of his spine. “You didn’t see before?”

“When you were my bloodbag? No.” Nux’s full attention was now riveted on the quiet man, sapphire-bright eyes wide with barely-controlled curiosity.

“Well…” Max was loath to do this. No one knew, except maybe the War Boys back at Citadel, the ones that captured him. They were likely dead by now. “If you’re gonna stay with me for a bit…” Shaking his head slightly, the man bit the bullet and yanked his undershirt over his head, exposing his chest to the strengthening sunlight. His torso was crisscrossed with the thick leather bands of a harness, which he began unbuckling with a practiced hand, fingers shaking only slightly at the enormity of what he was about to do. He let out the breath he had been holding when the leather fell around his feet. Nux’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates.

“Wow…” was all he could manage.

A pair of enormous, feathery wings unfolded from Max’s back, gleaming tawny in the morning sunlight. Mottled brows and greys blended together through the tops of the wings and evened out down the flight feathers, which sported white and brown bands. The feathers rustled as he stretched, working out the kinks from a day of riding and a night of decidedly unrestful sleep. Max didn’t speak; he didn’t have an explanation and had no desire to try to bullshit one. Thankfully, Nux seemed content to sit and gape.

The War Boy seemed to snap out of his trance when Max folded his wings comfortably. The tips brushed the ground even when folded, the longest primary feathers drawing twin patterns in the sand.

“I’ve had them ever since I can remember,” Max explained, rolling his shoulders. “I deal with them.”

“Can you fly?” Nux asked, shuffling on around on his bum to get a closer look at the appendages.

Max glanced away, back stiffening almost imperceptivity. “Not…not right now.” Nux looked up at him questioningly, and he sighed. “When I was captured, they pulled my primaries. They haven’t grown back all the way yet.” He almost winced as he said this; the pain had been unimaginable, and the ghost of it still shivered through his wings at the thought of the bloody event.

Nux flinched and seemed to curl in on himself. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Hey,” Max said, bending to clap a hand on Nux’s shoulder. He met the Boy’s eyes, their sparkling blue subdued by sympathy and secondhand guilt. “It wasn’t your fault.” He squeezed Nux’s shoulder lightly, and the darkness clouding his eyes cleared slightly. Max didn’t say much, which made the words he did use all the more potent.

“Alright…” The normally talkative War Boy stayed his mouth as Max straightened up and turned his back, running his wings through a familiar set of motions as he picked up the harness and straightened it out. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it hid his wings and didn’t hurt much, so he didn’t mind. Once he felt he could make it another day without going crazy, he maneuvered back into the harness and wriggled into his undershirt, bending awkwardly to pull the fabric over the feathery lump just below the base of his neck. He tucked his shirt into a saddlebag; Nux knew his secret, so he didn’t have to cover up quite as much. The jacket was the last thing to go on, completely obscuring the extra appendages to those who didn’t know exactly what they were looking for.

Nux looked as though he wanted to ask more questions when Max was redressed, so the man mounted the motorcycle and jerked his head pointedly at the seat behind him to avoid an interrogation. Nux took the hint and climbed on, accepting the scrap of fabric Max gave him to cover his nose and mouth against the flying sand. Max pulled his own goggles over his eyes and set his gaze on the horizon, starting parallel to the mountains. He had no idea where they were going. To civilization, to sand, to salt…to the sky, for all he cared.

To the sky, he mused. Maybe one day.

**Author's Note:**

> Max has barn owl wings~ They're gorgeous! c:


End file.
